The Annals of Terry Boot

Time after time,

I sit and I wait for your call.

I know I'm a fool,

But what can I say?

Whatever the price, I'll pay

For you, Madame Blue . . .

Suite Madame Blue,

Gaze in your looking glass

You're not a child anymore

Suite Madame Blue,

The future is all but past,

Dressed in your jewels

You made your own rules.

You conquered the world and more . . .

~Dennis DeYoung (Styx), from "Suite Madame Blue"

May 2nd

10:23--Wake up with a splitting headache.

At first, I can't figure out why I'm in a chair in the Common Room, wearing a skirt and fishnets.

But then last night comes floating back.

Seamus and Blaise . . . Blaise.

He'd said "good-bye." And it wasn't a "see you after class" kind of good-bye. It was a real good-bye.

A "we're over" good-bye.

"I can't be-lieve I did that," I mutter.

"Neither can I," someone says from beside me.

Blaise. Sitting on the couch with his knees tucked up under his chin.

"Blaise!" I smooth my wrinkled clothes and comb my fingers through my hair. As if he cares how I look now.

"You couldn't keep your tongue to yourself for twenty minutes, could you, Boot?"

"I don't remember any such thing." I figure that if I can't plead insanity, I can at least try for intoxication.

"You and Finnigan. And I'm not the only one that saw, you know."

Oh, God. Seamus doesn't deserve that kind of grief. "I'm sorry. I guess I momentarily forgot that I was your property."

That came out wrong . . .

Blaise's lips go thin and he stares into the ashes of last night's fire. "I. Have. Never. Said. That."

"It didn't need to be said. It was clear enough."

"Look, Boot, you're not married to me. It's just that . . . It was Finnigan!"

"What's wrong with Finnigan?"

"It's just that if it had been anyone else, I'd find it worlds easier to forgive you. If it had been Goldstein or Potter, I'd shrug it off as extreme drunkenness, but . . . But it was Finnigan."

"What makes him so special, then?" I snap, pressing my hands to my pounding temples. How much did I drink?

He doesn't answer right away, but looks at me for a long time as if he's seeing something else entirely. Finally, he says, "Because you deserve him."

"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Damn it, Terry, he's kind. He's thoughtful. He's honest, he's good-hearted, he's decent. You deserve a bit of decency. And I can tell he likes you, and you do like him. You like him a lot . . . Don't you?"

"If I say yes, are you going to slit your wrists?" The question comes out sharp and nasty. I bite my tongue.

Blaise's eyes go wide. "That was low, Terry."

"I know. I'm sorry." See? That I will apologize for. "Anyway, Seamus deserves more than me, if we're going to talk about what people deserve." Blaise opens his mouth to protest, but I cut him off. "Whether or not you deserve more than me seems a moot point right now. Right?"

Blaise shrugs one shoulder. "I don't know. It all depends on whether . . . Whether you're going to go with Seamus. You know, I--I only stopped pretending not to know you because I was terrified of the idea of losing you to Seamus. Not that it matters now." Before I can answer, he looks hesitant--hesitant!--and adds, "And did you ever like me? I know you've said you do, but I mean really like me. The way I like you."

I smile weakly. "You're my favourite Slytherin." It's true, but it's not what he was looking for. The problem is, I don't know if what he's looking for is true. But I don't know that it isn't, either. "And I don't know about Seamus. I like the idea of Seamus, I guess."

"To each his Dulcinea," Blaise whispers. Whatever that means. "I'll be going now. See you around, Boot."

"See you on Knockturn Alley," I murmur, trying not to listen to that annoying voice in my head telling me that if I were Weasley, I'd have Hermione and wouldn't be going through all this and hating myself right now.

I like Seamus.

And, damn it, I like Blaise too.

But he tries to leave before I see the tears streaming down his cheeks.

10:58--Trying clumsily to fix things.

I find Seamus down by the Quidditch pitch.

He looks depressed. Or maybe just hung over.

In any case, that makes two of us.

"Is Blaise mad at you?" he asks.

"Not . . . mad exactly." I sigh. "I don't what I'd call it, but I think it's something worse."

"I'm sorry, mate."

"So am I." I try glaring at him. "But you shouldn't have sung me that song."

His eyebrows shoot up. "Oh! You thought--? Shit." Seamus chews on his lower lip and gazes out past the goal posts. "I didn't know you thought that."

"I told you--"

"You told me that you liked eclairs!" He sort-of chuckles. "And that's hardly a news flash."

"I was drunk."

"And, boy, were you. So was I. I was singing it for--Well, do you remember how I told you yesterday that I never had a second date with Lavender, and you said you thought we'd been going off together all through fourth year?" I nod. "Well, that's because I got her to cover for me while I secretly met with . . ." He blushes.

Now I'm intrigued. "Who was it? Longbottom?" He looks amused at the notion. "Malfoy?"

He mimes sticking a finger down his throat and says, "Well, if you've got to know--"

"I do."

"--It was Fred Weasley."

"I . . ." It takes minute for this bit of information to reach my brain. "Oh. Okay. Wow." I shake my head. "I would never have guessed."

He shrugs. "'I Would Walk 500 Miles' was our song . . . Mostly because it was loud, stupid, and obnoxious, so we thought it was funny. But now Fred's a bit peeved that I went off and--how did he put it?--'let a gorgeous boy in a skirt straddle you on a couch right in front of me.'" He grins crookedly. "He was probably just jealous."

There's an awkward silence. The Hufflepuff Quidditch team is filing on for practice and they glance in our direction.

I really wish I'd had the sense to change clothes before tracking Seamus down.

"But I was the one with the boyfriend," I say. "And I was the one who attacked your face."

Seamus laughs. "Well, that's true. But I didn't try to stop you."

"Well, yes, but the problem is . . . I like you."

"I like you, too."

"No, I mean, I like you."

He rolls his eyes. "I know that. You've been tutoring twice a week, so there's a total of four hours every seven days that I'm alone with you. I've noticed." He pauses. "But if it makes ou feel any better, I like you, too."

"No, it doesn't, really. Because there's still Blaise to think about."

Seamus takes a deep breath. "Terry, look: I may like you, but, in case you hadn't noticed, Blaise loves you. And I'm not about to let you throw that away over a drunken make-out session."

"How do you know Blaise loves me?"

Laughing ruefully, he replies, "After Hermione started dating Ron, I considered asking you out, but I wasn't sure I should. For starters, I wasn't sure you liked boys . . . But when I happened to notice Blaise watching you from across the Great Hall, I knew I couldn't." He smiles and pushes me toward the castle. "So you'd damn well better make up with him before it's too late."

"Thanks, Seamus. You'd make a great agony aunt--Except that there aren't too many of those that I'd consider snogging."

With a sad half-smile, he agrees, "Yeah, I'm good at solving other people's problems. Now go."

Well, Blaise was right about one thing.

Seamus is nothing if not decent.

11:27--Trying to get into the Slytherin Common Room.

What would be the Slytherin password?

"Evil crackpot?" The stone wall doesn't slide open. "Serpents of doom? Pureblood elitism? Come on! Open up! I'm trying to win back the boy of my dreams, and I'm not going to let a dank stone wall stand in my way!"

"The password is xyrophilia."

Malfoy is leaning against the wall behind me.

"Oh, hello, Malfoy. Quite a show you put on last night." I try to look chipper and upbeat, just to annoy him and his really big hangover.

"Shove it, Boot. I feel like someone's taking an axe to my head. You're looking for Zabini, aren't you?"

"What gave you that clue?"

"How many other boys of your dreams could you have in Slytherin? Aside from me, of course."

He feels like his head is being cleaved open and he still has room to be obnoxiously arrogant?

"He's not in there, anyway," Malfoy continues, massaging his temples and wincing.

"Where is he, then?"

"How should I know? I'm not his keeper. He just hasn't been back . . . You know what, Boot?"

"No, what?"

"You hurt him. Now, I don't much care for him, and for some reason, I think he hates me, but I like him a hell of a lot more than you, because at least he's a Slytherin from a respectable family--Do you know what he did last night?"

"He wore the world's most awesome leather pants."

Malfoy sort of licks his lips. "Yeah, he did it for you. God knows why . . . But I meant after he left the party because of you going at it with that Irish half-blood idiot." He smirks.

"Shall I remind you that you made passes at Weasley and tried to get Potter to dance with you?"

He glares and says nothing.

"Look, Malfoy, I don't really want to be around you any longer than I have to be, so can you just be a pal and tell me where Blaise might be?"

He gives me that haughty Malfoy stare. "As if I would condescend to being your 'pal.'"

"Drop it, Malfoy. That act doesn't work anymore."

Pouting, he says, "Well, I don't know where Zabini is. Maybe he's in the kitchens, drowning himself in a soup tureen of triple-chocolate ice cream. He really does eat a lot . . ."

"Funny, then, that he's so slender," I retort, and head for the kitchen.

Sometimes I wish everything in this castle was just a little closer together . . .

11:31--Boy of Dreams at twelve o'clock.

Whatever "at twelve o'clock" means . . .

Blaise is leaning against a wall in the corridor leading to the kitchens, a half-burned cigarette held loosely between two fingers. He puts it to his lips, inhales, and blows me a smoke ring.

I arch an eyebrow at him. "Excuse me, sir, but do you know where I can find a certain Blaise Zabini?"

He arches an eyebrow back. "I don't know. I hear he's gone missing. But I also hear that he's said to be incredibly sexy and the paragon of razor-edged wit."

"Aah, don't flatter yourself. That's my job. And I just wanted to say that I'm, you know, sorry . . ."

Taking a drag on his cigarette, he nods an waits for me to continue.

"Because, you know, I guess I thought I wanted to snog Seamus, but that was just--Well, it was just stupid. Because you're the only one--Scratch that. It sounds so sappy. Not that it's not true, mind you, I just wish that I could think of something more original--"

"Oh, fuck it, Terry, how long are you going to keep babbling?"

"Until everything's okay."

"Then you should have shut up about three minutes ago." He tosses his cigarette onto the stone floor and grinds it under his foot. "You're still wearing that skirt."

"Yeah." I had more important things on my mind than that this morning.

"It's very short."

"You've said that." I step toward him, then pause. "Are we going to kiss and make up?"

"In a corridor frequently travelled by house elves? Really, Terry." He smiles. "Let's go down to the lake."

There's a Zabini for you. Pinning him against the wall, I push my mouth against his. I do it too hard and my teeth scrape against his.

He puts a hand on the small of my back and strokes my cheek with the other. "God, Terry, I love you."

I flash my saucy smile. "I know you do. And . . ." I kiss him on the inside of his neck. "I'd be lying if I didn't say the same about you."

He beams and goes slightly pink. So Seamus was right . . . "You know, I was going to ask you what you're doing this summer."

"Well," I muse, "I was thinking of going home, getting smacked around, consolidating my standing as Pat Harrison's favourite customer, and contemplating death. You know, basic Boot stuff."

"Have you ever been to Italy?"

"Can't say that I have, because I haven't." Was he asking what I thought he was asking?

"Well, I'll be going, and I might get lonely. Would you care to accompany me?"

I smile. "You know, suddenly I can scratch off all those other summer activities I had planned." I pause. "What are you going to tell your family?"

"Whatever I damn well please. I never liked being a Zabini, anyway."

"Are you just saying that?"

"Oh, probably. But they'll find out eventually, anyway. They are Zabinis, after all, and if you think I've got a web of informants, you should see my uncle's." He wraps his arms around my waist. "So stick around, Madame Blue. Things are bound to get interesting."

I hold him close and whisper in his ear, "Of course they will, Blaise. You'll be there. And I wouldn't miss it for the world."